


Aftermath

by lillullaby



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: But it fixes it!, M/M, Major Character Death Mentioned, Young Blood Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillullaby/pseuds/lillullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Andy closes his eyes he sees Joe on that hospital bench. When he goes to sleep, he relives all of this shit over and over again. He relives walking into that room. He relives wanting to kill the man who did this. He relives flying into battle with no intention of getting out of it. </p><p>They survived- literally by the grace of God. Andy died in mourning. Even now that he has Joe back, alive and healthy, he discovers grief isn't an easy thing to shake. </p><p>Young Blood Chronicles aftermath fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> There are going to be flashbacks in this. I, personally, do not like to read large paragraphs of italics- so I will label the sections where it's a dream/memory/etc. it won't be the prettiest, but for me it allows for easier reading. I hope it doesn't bug anyone too bad.

There aren’t words to properly describe what’s happened to them. There isn’t the right collection of adjectives, no clever poem that will really say how it feels- not even Pete would try. They were dragged back to life after being fucking _slaughtered_. They were brought back with a job. Andy doesn’t remember what, exactly, when it comes right down to it: to save the world, preserve the integrity of music, or was there something more metaphorical ‘God’ had in mind. Who fucking knows. Whatever it was, they fucking did it, and now here they are. Alive and kicking, but they'll never be the same. 

All wounds were healed, from the little cuts, to Joe’s leg, to the fatal slice across Andy’s neck. Patrick didn’t have a scratch on him, and he was easily the most fucked up- he had his hand and all of his internal organs. (Fuck, see- this shit is too crazy to really describe, even in a clinical way.) They had all been pieced back together, but they could never be whole. Life doesn't work like that. You don't get to go through this, and come out fresh and clean. They've been beaten, attacked, stabbed, and mutilated. Divine touch can clear your skin, but it's not enough. They were scarred inside, and it leaves a ghost pain. Nothing could erase what they knew, what they saw. 

Andy is broken. For the man who has always been considered the rock in the group, it didn't take much to break him. Just one thing, just one loss: Joe. He could deal with the beatings, but Joe... that was the end for Andy. The way he aches is so deep it might as well be physical- it makes him want to keel over, to throw up in grief and pain. He’s in mourning. In the past the couple of days he has lost absolutely everything- he lost Joe. He died with his heart ripped out of his chest. Even though he’s back it still feels like it’s missing. When he looks at Joe, now, he feels like his insides are on fire. Joe fucking died. Is he supposed to just fucking get over that? Not going to fucking happen. He closes his eyes, and he sees Joe’s big, blue eyes open and lifeless. He doesn’t think he's ever going to get over it.

x

 

Andy isn’t sure how they get home. Somebody had a change of clothing and a car. Andy doesn’t care- all he knows is that he’s at his fucking house, which is somewhere he didn't think he would ever get to go back to. Andy practically runs inside, Joe following hot on his heels. Andy wants to get behind closed doors- he wants to lock it behind them and not leave for a very long time. He doesn’t trust anything anymore, and he wants to be somewhere familiar, where he won’t have to go far to find Joe. He wants to be somewhere he can just sit and stare at his boyfriend. (When they were in the car, Andy just sat there and watched Joe, blinking and breathing, and was thoroughly amazed by even these simple things.)

They get through the front door and the couple turn toward each other immediately. Joe’s arms go tight around Andy, lifting him off the ground with the force of his hug. It’s the first time they’ve touched since they got back. There just hasn’t been time, what with the fucking blood showers and people dying right and left. But, now, Joe is finally back in his arms- and the moment he does Andy feels like he can finally breathe. Joe doesn't disappear like smoke under his touch, the screen doesn't fade to black, he doesn't wake up somewhere and find out that Joe is still dead. No, Joe's right here. Andy presses his face into Joe’s neck, which smells like sweat, and he can feel Joe’s every breath. He’s alive- actually alive. 

“God, you’re real.” Andy knows how broken that sounds.

“Yeah,” Joe whispers, kissing the top of Andy’s head. “I’m real. We both are, and we’re _home_.”

Somehow, Andy gets Joe pressed up against the front door. He is leaning all of his weight against his partner, letting Joe keep him up. Andy slides a hand into Joe’s hair, his fingers tangling into the curls. They’re not so much kissing as breathing against each other's mouth in a messy, desperate kind of way. Andy can feel the worry coming off of Joe in waves. He knows he’s crying, he knows that he has to look like a total mess. (He is a total mess.) He can’t be strong right now, he literally couldn’t if he tried. Joe just holds him and supports him, letting him fall apart.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'This nightmare is different. It’s crystal fucking clear, and he doesn’t move at all. He is frozen in place, totally unable to move his body. It seems so bizarre, this should just be a dream, but no- this is a memory. It’s reliving Joe’s death, every second and every emotion, in absolute horror.'

Andy’s gotten nightmares since he was a kid. They’ve always been pretty standard: weird, hazy, and hard to remember. As a kid, it was shit like his mom getting eaten by a vampire, or being chased through the woods. Now, the dreams are way more twisted. Blame it on what you wish- the gore he watches and reads, his existential crises, his dad dying. Whatever it is, he always starts thrashing around. It doesn’t make for happy bed partners. But, Joe and Andy worked out a system when they first started dating, and it seems to work. Joe does his very best octopus impression, spooning Andy from behind with his arms (and sometimes his legs) wrapped around him tight. It grounds Andy, so if he starts freaking out it wakes him up, and when it doesn’t it wakes Joe up. He’ll stays up with Andy, just kind of rocking him until he’s calmed down enough to go back to sleep.

This nightmare is different. It’s crystal fucking clear, and he doesn’t move at all. He is frozen in place, totally unable to move his body. It seems so bizarre, this should just be a dream, but no- this is a memory. It’s reliving Joe’s death, every second and every emotion, in absolute horror.

 

_-nightmare/flashback-_

 

Andy hears screaming. It echoes through this awful fucking hospital- it’s a terrified, crying sound. Andy gets up, still clutching the stinging cut on his side. He has to go, someone is getting attacked. That isn’t Pete’s scream. He’s getting into his stride, adrenalin rushing back strong as he starts running towards the sound. Fuck, that isn’t Patrick, either. That means- but, that- Andy speeds up, sprinting. He sees Pete rush out of another hallway, and their eyes meet. He can see that Pete is relieved to see him alive, but it also clearly makes him even more scared. Andy knows exactly why. If it had come down to a fight between Andy and Patrick, even with the hook, Andy could have won. But, here Andy is. He can count, he knows who’s left.

Then the screaming stops. The atmosphere in the hospital stills and becomes oh-so silent. No- no, no, no. Andy practically pushes Pete out of the way, tripping over himself. It isn’t Joe. That wasn’t Joe’s voice (yes, it was- he’d know it anywhere). There must be someone else in here, maybe a homeless guy, squatting in here and Patrick got to him (it wasn’t). Andy is an atheist, but jesus fuck, he still starts mumbling prayers as he runs. He’s practically begging under his breath.

Pete gets there first, he’s able to run faster because his body isn't as torn up as Andy’s. Andy sees him stop short as soon as he forces the door open, “Oh- fucking _shit_ -” Andy is hot on Pete’s trail, his mind buzzing with desperate pleas to whoever or whatever might be listening.

He runs in and every thought dies out. It’s too late.

Andy knows what he’s seeing but he can’t process it, his mind refuses to wrap around what’s happened. He tries to break the situation apart and think about the pieces individually. Patrick, one of his best friends, is crouching down, hunched beside the hospital bench. He’s still for the first time since the music was turned on in the truck, but he still has that feral look on his face. Andy has to reach a hand out, holding Pete’s shoulder, because he knows that Pete is just stupid enough to approach him. The moment Andy looks up at the body on the bench, he can’t look away. He stops paying attention to everything, anything else.

He doesn’t notice when Patrick fades back into his normal consciousness. He doesn’t hear the police sirens. He doesn’t- fuck, nothing matters. Because that’s Joe. His Joe. The one he’s been going to bed next to every night for eight years, who he has built an entire life with, he had always been able to imagine his future with so clearly. It's all... gone, and Andy will never be able to get it back. He feels the world narrow around him, the edges crumbling away. He makes his feet move, forcing his way to Joe’s side.

“Joe,” Andy whispers, the fingers digging into Joe’s throat, looking in vain for a pulse that isn’t there.  A few feet away, Patrick’s entire body flinches as he hears the name. Andy can hear him crying. Fuck him.

“Joe, baby, no-” His voice breaks on every single word. He looks into Joe’s eyes. This is the image that will stay with Andy for the rest of his life. It will loom, ready to present itself every time he closes his own eyes. Joe’s eyes are so wide and blue- Andy doesn’t understand how eyes this pretty can be made so ugly. So lifeless. His face is covered in blood, and Andy wants to take his sleeve and clean it off.

“Andy, fuck- the cops are here- Andy-”

“Shut up.” He doesn’t yell it, doesn’t spit hostility at Pete for telling him he needs to leave. He doesn’t have the energy to feel angry about anything right now. His voice is very quiet, so unsteady that he feels like it’s going to trip and break. Joe is dead. Really, truly, permanently dead. No matter if Andy screams and shakes him, tells him to look at him. He won't. He never will, and Andy is helpless to do anything. Pete's right, too- the cops are about to show up. Andy just starts fucking babbling, verbally throwing up everything as fast as he can.

“It should have been me, Joey,” He whispers, his hands fumbling to try and loosen the electrical cord from around the dead man’s neck and shoulders. “I told you to come this way- I thought you would be safe- I- I-” If Andy starts crying, he knows that he isn’t going to be able to stop. He never thought he would feel thankful for the empty, numbness that has filled his chest. "I never should have left you, we could have done it together- I could have protected you- he never would have-"

The sound of footsteps are loud as men run down the hall.

"Joe, I’m so sorry-" Andy whispers, fingertips touching his bloody cheek, and that's the last thing he gets to do or say. He doesn't have enough time to say everything he needs to say, and he will never be able to use this moment for closure. Nothing will ever help. He gets dragged away from Joe, strong arms wrapping around him and physically removing him from the room.

He never got to close his eyes- Andy leaves Joe with his bright, dead eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. He knew that this was the last time he was ever going to see the man he committed the rest of his _fucking life_ to. Joe would be taken away separately, while Andy was driven to the police station. It isn’t until that moment, when he’s down the hall, led by the forceful arms of some pig, that he realizes: with everything he got out, in his desperate attempts to say good bye, he never said ‘I love you’. He’s never going to see his partner’s face, not even slack and lifeless, and he is never going to be able to tell him he loves him.

From there, everything spirals into darkness. It’s cold and encloses around Andy like it’s trying to strangle him. Like it’s trying to kill Andy, too. There’s nothing there but a deep feeling of pain, and of being alone. It’s what Andy imagines it feels like your insides carved out with a melon baller. The only thing left in the dream is pitch black darkness, pain, strangling sadness, and one other thing:

 

He can see is Joe’s eyes.  

 

_-now-_

 

Andy wakes up feeling as though he just run a marathon while holding his breath- his lungs are on fire and he wants to fucking throw up. At first, he thinks he’s just waking up after passing out, still in the dream. Like, he’s in the back of the cop car, and he had fainted while the officer was dragging him out of there. When he opens his eyes and sees his own bedroom, he almost jumps out of his skin is total surprise. What? He’s home- does that- When he tries to sit up, to investigate, only to find a pair of familiar arms keeping him down, it all comes back to him like a punch in the face.

Oh- oh, god. That’s-

Andy spins in Joe’s arms, pushing his sleeping partner so he’s flat on his back. He hears the man grunt, starting to wake up, but that isn’t enough- he needs to _know_. He presses his fingers hard against the side of Joe’s throat, just like he did that night in the abandoned hospital, desperately looking for a pulse. This time, though, he doesn’t come up empty handed. Joe’s heart beats a strong, healthy rhythm against Andy’s fingers.

“Baby?” Andy startles when the silence is broken, looking up at Joe’s face. His eyes are open, heavy lidded and sleepy and so alive. It’s corny and stupid, the kind of thing Andy would never confess aloud, but it fucking takes his breath away, leaving him speechless. He feels Joe’s hand slide across his arm, settling on the wrist of the hand that’s still pressed to his neck. That worried look is back, pinching his brow and contorting that fucking beautiful face. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Andy opens his mouth to responds, but nothing comes out. He can’t do it. Everytime he blinks he sees lifeless eyes: wide open and blank. But when he opens them back up he sees this Joe, his Joe: eyes still a bit sleepy around the edges, clear and blue but still with a twinkle, despite the obvious worry. It chokes the air out of his lungs.

“Andy-”  Andy just shake his head, and Joe, thankfully, falls silent. He has to find his voice.

“I didn’t get to- when you- I-” Andy doesn’t usually stutter his words- but, he doesn’t have time to think through what he wants to say. He wasted his time, before. He didn’t say what he needed to, and then it was just too late. That can’t happen again.

“I love you.” Joe knows this- Andy is so of that. But, Andy needs him to hear it. He needs to say it over and over again until it makes up for what Andy lost the chance to do. “I love you, so fucking much. I didn’t think I would be able to ever say it again, but now you’re fucking here, for good and-” Andy makes a frustrated, pathetic sound.

Joe is looking up at Andy in absolute, broken hearted horror. Joe was fucking dead, he doesn’t have any idea what it was like. Andy was left behind and forced to live without Joe. Joe doesn’t know just how much it fucked Andy up, and if Andy has his way Joe never will. He is clearly worrying enough without Andy making it worse. “Andy, dude, fuck-” Joe’s arms wrap tightly around Andy, holding him close, like he’s trying to protect him. Andy is surprised at how much of a comfort it really is. Realistically, neither Joe or Andy could have done anything to prevent themselves from getting captured, before. So, the idea that Joe’s arms and a quilt can keep them safe now is ridiculous. Andy does his best to get as close to Joe as possible, burrowing in, trying to totally cover them with the blanket. Joe doesn’t stop him, only helps get the blanket over their heads. Once they're properly protected from the world, Andy tries to get a hold of himself, but his breathing is uneven and panicky.

“I love you, too, Andy,” Joe whispers, running his hand up and down Andy’s back, trying to get him to calm down. He rubs his nose against Andy’s cheek until the older man finally gets the hint and turns his head for a kiss. This kiss is nothing like the one they shared the day before, despite Andy’s similar feeling of desperation. The hand that was pressed to Joe’s neck creeps up to cup his cheek, but Joe has all the control, here, guiding Andy into calming down. It’s working- it takes all he’s got to concentrate on breathing and kissing back. Andy feels his partner’s tongue run along his lower lip, and it makes his mind quiet. He slides his tongue into Andy’s mouth. Joe knows what he’s doing. He knows what makes Andy’s brain go all fuzzy and relaxed- usually this maneuver would be utilized for sexier times, but it is super effective for this, too.

“I love you,” Joe repeats again when he pulls away. He presses his forehead against Andy’s, both of them taking a second to catch their breath. “I love you, and you love me. There’s never been a doubt in my mind. Even if I d-” Andy makes a strangled sound, and Joe doesn’t finish statement. “Well, even then, we’re going to love eachother. That’s never going to change.”

“I just keep thinking about it, and seeing you, and,” Andy’s voice is very unsteady, “I should have protected you, and I should have told you, and-” Andy has so much regret, he’s so ashamed and guilty for all of the things he did wrong in the hospital. He needs Joe to understand.

“‘And’ nothing,” Joe interrupts. “Nothing about what happened is your fault or your responsibility. It’s none of ours.”

Andy doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t believe Joe’s words at all. Joe can obviously tell, but doesn’t say anything. They just lay there, pressed together, breathing each other's air. Occasionally they break the silence, to remind the other how much they love one another before falling quiet again.

 

 


End file.
